


Battle in the Jungle (It's NOT Alright!)

by NorthwesternInsanity



Category: Emerson Lake & Palmer (Band), Jethro Tull - Fandom, Music RPF, Steely Dan - Fandom
Genre: Battle, Drowning, Gen, Plane Crash, crackfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-01
Updated: 2019-11-01
Packaged: 2021-01-16 14:44:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21272900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NorthwesternInsanity/pseuds/NorthwesternInsanity
Summary: A performance in Australia to feature Steely Dan and Jethro Tull goes wrong prior to arrival when the insane and shell-shocked World War II veteran pilot hired crashes midway and abandons his passengers.  The two bands are at odds over how to get back to civilized land, and war ensues.





	Battle in the Jungle (It's NOT Alright!)

**Author's Note:**

> Written as a prompt fill for Rockfic's 2019 Christmas in July for user Felonious Kane, who requested a scenario where Steely Dan drowns Jethro Tull in Emerson Lake! Crackfic abounds!

To say that the _Pretzel Logic_ tour had been chaotic _enough_ was putting it lightly. Donald Fagen and Walter Becker had collectively decided that their snide remarks to each other whenever they were rousted out of bed the morning after a late night performance to get back on another bus or plane, and their declarations that men were indeed beasts from the horrific backstage activities of their rowdier accompanying acts, were all worthy contestants for understatement of the year.

However, since neither of them, nor Skunk Baxter, Denny Dias, Jim Hodder, or Jeff Porcaro had dropped dead out of sleep from otherwise perpetual motion, they could keep being ripped untimely from their hotel rooms. And, they had to press on with it for as far out as they had gigs booked under nearly unbreakable contracts.

Walter had scathingly called that agreement 'reasonable'.

So when an offer came in for a gig with Jethro Tull in Australia a month prior to their last date in sight, and at a reward that was too great for management to refuse, neither he, nor Donald, were thrilled.

Because nobody else decided to present an opinion to management in the matter -or were too fearful to while under the watch of Walter and Donald's downcast glares -there was no chance to escape left when all in Jethro Tull accepted.

Or so, they'd thought.

There _had_ been a spark of hope when Jeff fell ill with pneumonia from the flu four days to taking off. So ill that he'd been deemed 'medically unfit for travel'. Not that _anyone_ wanted to travel in the confined space of a plane with him for hours while he was still contagious with something so severe. But that _still_ hadn't sufficed for management to remove Steely Dan from the performance bill, so in addition to being fed up enough with touring, they were continuing on their journey halfway around the globe with only Jim Hodder on drums.

_"Fine,"_ was the answer Donald fixed Gary Katz with when he broke the news that there was no way out, and by his tone, it was plenty clear that it was _not_ fine at all.

_"I've survived gigs with only Jim before, and ones that were far worse, thanks to a couple of mishaps with someone no longer with us that I won't repeat for his benefit. I MIGHT survive this one."_

So all of Steely Dan sans Jeff Porcaro met up with Jethro Tull the day of takeoff. They bused in from their previous tour date in Chicago to the selected airport in New York, where Jethro Tull waited after their last show with the privately-chartered plane their tour management had been willing to provide. 

The experience prior to takeoff was sickening enough. Ian Anderson was quick to scold Donald for being so pessimistic over traveling far to perform and over not having two drummers, when surely, one was fine enough for live purposes. He seemed to revel in the thrill of winding him up, as Donald was already high strung with stage fright when they were nearly a day from the location of the performance, and two days out from the scheduled time.

Martin Barre was the exact opposite. He was overbearingly kind and reassuring to the point that the positive effect was overridden.

"Martin, you seem to think we are unaware that we will be alright as we are and that most audiences will find any diminished sound acceptable. We in fact _are_ aware that we can produce a satisfactory sound as a five-piece," said Walter, shutting the guitarist up. "That is not the point."

The rest of the time waiting for their scheduled flight time was filled with John Evan acting crazy and making jokes about all the ways a flight could go wrong, which earned him no direct response, but prompted plenty of looks between Walter and Donald that spoke without words of the insane fool they found him to be acting. At least Barriemore Barlow and Jeffrey Hammond were quiet. They'd purposefully deprived themselves of sleep the night before and shown up mildly hungover in hopes of being able to drop out and sleep soundly through the long flight duration.

They'd all been assured they were in good hands. That the plane they were in was designed to hold up in war -as their World War II veteran pilot refused to fly any plane less sturdy -and no madness between inebriated crew members or musicians inside the cabin, nor attacks from outside intruders at airports would possibly breach the aircraft and pose a threat to their safety.

And for the first half of the flight path -perhaps assisted by the long time period and the majority of the road crew and members wisely choosing to get what precious sleep they could -everything went swimmingly.

But then Captain John Yossarian crashed the plane down on the bank of a river cutting through a tropical rainforest, at a path that seemed deliberate enough to his passengers who were awake to see it coming. He must have valued his own life enough, because he brought it down to a low, flat cruise mere feet above the ground before diving onto it. Consequently, there were few notable casualties suffered beyond a rude awakening. Jim complained of mild concussion symptoms and had a visibly dislocated knee, Martin suffered a long, bloody cut along his arm from where he caught a bolt while sliding along the wall, and Barrie was entirely unresponsive after sliding and slamming headlong into the metallic assembly beneath a seat, but very much alive on closer inspection.

"He's been knocked out; he's just hit his head rather hard," John declared with too little concern as they evacuated the plane, parting the drummer's hair to display a gash and impressive localized swelling.

As soon as he'd helped carry the incapacitated drummers from the wreckage, Denny Dias turned to their pilot at fault -who seemed strangely impressed with himself as he looked over the wreckage -and he saw red.

When Denny went at him holding a guitar like a weapon, ready to retaliate, Yossarian took off running between the trees so fast -backwards, no less -that nobody had a chance to grab him, or steal back one of the radar communications radios from the emergency equipment he'd snagged. He made it past the clawing grabs and loud swearing of Jeffrey and Martin, keeping a strategic eye on anyone that tried to move after and ducking around trees accordingly. Once those two lost sight of him, they never saw him again.

Barrie was so terribly concussed -far worse than Jim -that when he came to, he took a punch-drunk stumble toward the detached tail of the plane in a half minded but still stubborn enough attempt to find the emergency gear, which they had been made well aware of before the flight. The moment he reached it and came to a stop, he became violently ill on the spot from vertigo, rendering one of the two remaining emergency distress call radios ineffective.

"Look, you shit faced idiot; are you _trying_ to ensure we don't get out of here alive when it's lucky enough the plane didn't finish us? You're doing a fantastic job, by the way!" Donald roughly grabbed Barrie by the back of his neck and wrenched him away from the emergency gear to send him sprawling on the ground a second time. Then he tried to pull everything he could tell for sure hadn't been tainted away from what he verbally declared a 'biohazard.'

"I _don't_ want to hear it," he hissed to Jim's concerned expression. Jim had found out the hard way before the fight took off that Barrie was stubborn and would speak his mind and start a fight readily when he saw fit. Not that he was in any condition to do so now.

"Now, now, everyone, why the fuss?" Ian Anderson shook his head and tutted. "It's not that terrible-"

"Not so terrible, you say? That's nice news to hear. _You_ can go get the emergency gear and clean it, then. Which, if you thought I was going to go near that mess, remember that _your_ drummer made it." Walter's condescending tone was of his typical version that sounded far friendlier than it was, but he was pissed off enough that he couldn't quite bring his smirk all the way through. 

Instead, Ian got greeted by his truly terrifying death glare.

"Alright, I will." Still maintaining an unusual amount of cheerfulness, Ian went and lifted the last functional and untainted emergency radio like it hardly weighed a pound, though it in fact weighed several. Jeffrey helped get the kit, which was just outside the affected area

Martin came up beside Ian and began pushing buttons on the radio -with his uninjured hand at Ian's order not to leave bloody fingerprints -until it squalled static and a prompt to call for help played.

"It works!" he exclaimed.

Ian switched it off and jumped to his feet a bit _too_ enthusiastically.

"Last time I checked, the purpose of that was to call for help, if you're thinking this'th might be a good time, y'know -or did you somehow not wake up when the plane crashed?" Donald threw up his hands and sighed in frustration. "Turn it _back on_ and make the call, you dope!"

"Now, we've got survival equipment, and we've got a mode of transport by water," said Ian, tucking the radio beneath his arm. "Even if we can't get back to home on our own necessarily, why not find our way to a clearing to make it easier for rescuers to get to us? It's our chance for our own adventure."

"Adventure my ass; I'm ready to go home," Denny grumbled.

"Oh you are? Good for you," remarked Donald. "So am I."

"I'm pretty sure rescuers are trained to get into places difficult to access _for a reason,"_ Skunk tried, hoping that reasoning with Ian and at least pretending to show respect rather than scolding him might get through. "With the body of the plane being down here, it might be easier for anyone to find us if we just stay where we are."

"It's pretty hard to go on an adventure with a fucked knee." Jim sat on the ground, looking forlorn.

"I won't hear any of your negativity any longer," said Ian, deploying the life raft with Jeffrey and John's help, and seeing as Martin subsequently helped Barrie inside. "Besides that, I've got the radio. You don't have much choice but to come with us, have you? Not if you want to eventually make a call when the time comes."

"I could go over there and kick your ass and have Skunk sneak up and attack you from behind..." Denny spoke through gritted teeth so low that only Walter and Donald would hear him from where they stood by him. He might have succeeded in pulling a half-smirk of agreement from Donald.

Walter had a different idea.

"Now, if they're going to play a game, let's make an honest attempt of playing it clean." He nodded to Donald with a side-eye that said it all. 

They didn't have a full plan as to how they would get the radio back, but when the right time came, they'd know what to do.

"We're playing along for right now," Donald told the others in a hushed tone. "If you value getting home in the next month, or alive at all, I suggest you listen to what Walter and I say. And _not a word_ to any of them, do you hear?"

He fixed Skunk, Denny, and Jim with a death glare so severe that Jim shrank back and nodded in earnest, and Skunk saluted. Equally fed up, Denny sighed and nodded.

By some miracle, parts of the broken plane ended up functional as additional life rafts, as the raft itself wasn't nearly enough for all ten. The wing of the plane wasn't the most comfortable or stable surface, but it was large and worked. The tail made for a great place to hook additional emergency gear -the signaling kit, a life preserver and snare pole, and a box of foil blankets -and was easily tied onto the wing, and a section of fuselage that curved to float like a boat provided just enough space for everyone.

Ian's unusually fantastic mood continued, as well as his scolding to anyone who wouldn't be cheerful with him. Which was much easier for his bandmates, who were all in the raft with him. Skunk and Denny were perched on the wing, and Walter and Donald had reluctantly accepted that Jim would have to be in the fuselage with them. He'd already had several near-misses trying to stay on the wing, between being unable to use both legs to push against the slope, and too dizzy to sense his shifting balance until he was already sliding toward the water.

The arrangement was insult enough. Refusal to direct toward shore when they came into a calm clearing where the banks widened and the current slowed was worse.

"That's inconsistent with what you said earlier about stopping in a clearing," Skunk argued with Ian.

But it was when Ian pulled one of the two flutes he had strapped on his belt up and began playing it in the raft while dancing around Barrie, and soon got Martin and John singing "Bungle in the Jungle" with him, that the line of what anyone in Steely Dan was willing to tolerate was long-since crossed.

To everyone's surprise, though not terribly so, it was Denny who actually snapped first.

_"No,_ it's NOT 'alright'; shut your goddamn traps already!" As he yelled, he grabbed the edge of the adjacent life raft, snatched the radio with one hand and tossed it safely into Skunk's hands, and proceeded to pull up and overturn the raft.

Before anyone could shift their weight toward the side Denny grabbed to counteract his lifting force and stabilize the raft, it was tilted ninety degrees, sending every member of Jethro Tull acting as the source of his agony flipping over into the water without warning. Only for the raft to then land upside down overtop of them too when Denny dropped it.

Jim cried out in shock. "D-Denny! How could you _do_ that?"

"I just DID," Denny answered flatly, though seeming slightly unnerved by it himself as he climbed back up on the wing. He watched and listened to the splashing, coughing and gasping of everyone who collectively got a snot-locker full of water with the unexpected plunge, and the yells of protest that came as soon as they caught their breath.

Everyone except for Barrie, who had gone still in the water after a few small chokes, and showed no attempt to trying to keep his head above the surface to save himself.

"Oh, but you see, this is just the thing," Walter declared, meeting eyes with Donald as they both seemed to perk up at once. "This is just the beginning of the answer to all of our woes here."

"What is?" asked Skunk.

"Watch," said Donald sternly. "Keep that radio safe -or at least keep track of it -if you're still as useful as you've been."

"Are you serious?" The question had barely been out for a second before Skunk waved off the question he'd fired on autopilot. Shocking as it was, he knew Walter and Donald well enough to know that they _were_.

With a loud grunt and huff, Jeffrey pushed the raft back over, and he and Martin pitched themselves back over the edge and into the raft. Ian remained in the water with John, holding to a piece of the aircraft on which they'd laid out poor Barriemore while attempting to resuscitate him.

As he continued to lay lifeless, it was vastly apparent that whatever head injuries he had sustained had done him in when combined with choking on his sudden inversion under the water. He'd barely stood a chance, if any at all.

It was then that the surrounding area became quiet, save for the water current against the banks on either side of them. _Too_ quiet.

Ian broke the silence first.

"And they snatched the radio from the raft, you said, Hammond?"

"Yes, they did," replied Jeffrey flatly as he quickly moved to siphon the remaining excess water out of the raft with his hands.

"Then all three of you with me," declared Ian. "This means war!"

"Fair enough, and we accept your declaration." Walter smirked through narrowed eyes at Ian. "We've _been_ ready for some time."

"John, you take whoever you perceive to be the biggest threat at the moment! Hammond, I want you after the one who flipped the raft.

Skunk and Walter both shot Denny wordless glares with the same message.

_Don't go after him yourself until one of us assist you; he'll sooner look for you to put up a fight._

"You, focus on keeping watch and keeping dry as you can, because you know _why_," Walter muttered to Donald. Only jump in where it makes sense too; I'll command this one. I want you two on ambush!" He pointed to Skunk and Denny.

"Can I help?" asked Jim.

"That's funny, I didn't think you were that badly concussed while Barriemore was here." Walter reached into the emergency kit to search for a weapon. The first thing his hand blindly landed on that he pulled out was, rather surprisingly, an apple.

Though his expression didn't show any amusement or surprise right away, when Jeffrey stopped chasing after Denny -who had resorted to the water - pointed and began hooting and hollering like an idiot, Walter smirked, shrugged, and threw it hard while the bassist was vulnerable.

It beaned Jeffrey in the head, just as he'd tilted his body back to raise one foot up and stomp it. With his balance compromised, the surprise strike sent him falling backward into the water.

"Now that he's down, I think you can safely keep him under, Denny. You've been very useful today; keep it up. Skunk, let's see if you can match his progress."

Denny stared for a moment, frozen at the thought. The first drowning had been accidental. He could argue too that it hadn't really been his fault; Barrie could have fallen out of the raft on his own -or been knocked out by Ian's prancing, and could have easily drowned just the same from lack of coordination in the water. This time, he was going to deliberately hold someone under the water who was capable of getting out on their own.

Then, it was tempting. Everyone in Jethro Tull had caused them to be in their current predicament, and had forced the game on them. And Jeffrey was the one after him.

"If they surrender the radio, whoever agrees to give it up lives," he bargained as he jumped back off the wing and firmly ducked Jeffrey by the head under the water.

"Not a bad idea; I can take that one." Walter surprisingly nodded his approval.

"We'll see who's smart enough to give it up," Donald added as he made for the snare pole on the tail. "That'll give them a chance to redeem some amount of function in their brains, y'know?"

Whether his ears were plugged with water and he didn't hear, his fight or flight response was overriding any logical thought, or he just didn't care, Jeffrey kept up the fight. For an impossible amount of time, he sprang up against Denny's ducks and gasped for air, and was almost successful in swimming away once he got his feet out behind him and up to the surface.

That was when Skunk decided to play his card. He tossed the radio into the raft, giving Donald a warning to watch for it first, and slid off the wing into the water quietly. By sneaking up behind Jeffrey while he was focused in fighting Denny, he managed to lock his arms around his kicking feet before he could realize and escape. Once his ankles were bound, his fighting was ineffective.

"John, get the others in the water. Martin, make an attack on the raft; you'd be unwise to get in the water with both of them while injured," Ian commanded, jumping from the raft to the wing to access the tail.

With the coast clear, Walter and Donald dragged Jim off the fuselage and onto the raft.

"Why do I have to be here with them?" Jim complained as he swiped with a wet hand the bloody trail he'd been dragged through, which Martin had left from his still-bleeding wound.

"Stay out of the water, and if you can't make yourself useful on this platform, stay out of the way, which if you actually attempt to look, you have more room to attempt that here." Walter sneered, shoving the radio into Jim's good knee with just enough motion to make the drummer flinch in fear that it'd strike the other. "It'll be your own problem if you manage to drown yourself trying when we made it easy for you. And do us the favor and guard that while Skunk's occupied."

He turned around at Donald's request to see Ian standing on the tail of the plane with the supplies hooked to it.

"Oh, are you afraid to fight this one?" asked Walter. "You can live to get home with us if you just give it up now."

"If you don't do yourself in, since you decided to stand on the most unstable surface here," Donald added, taking a very focused and cautious jump to reclaim the fuselage as he spoke, lest Ian take it at his suggestion, or try to strike and knock him into the water.

"I would not assume an outcome before you've seen all the events." Even while keeping a close eye on his surroundings, Ian's agility and strong balance he'd developed over many a stage act was suiting him well, as he stood without the slightest falter. "Besides, the two of you made it a matter of vengeance."

"Watch out for him; we'll take the others down first if they give us reason to," Donald hissed to Walter.

Skunk and Denny were now swimming away from a limp figure entirely clad in stripes.

"It took the two of you a few takes to keep him under, but it seems you've managed in good time today," Walter noted. "We will see about taking down their keyboard player if you take down their guitarist."

Martin had jumped off the raft and onto the wing to take the spool of rope from the tail under Ian's order. On his jump back over to the raft, he stood dazed on landing, pausing to rub his eyes and shake his head. 

Blood smeared across his right eye as he did, and diluted, red rivulets rolled down the incline of the wing. Now that the cut down his arm wasn't bleeding quite as profusely as it had been earlier, it was apparent just how deep the jagged gash was.

"He's getting anemic; he oughta go down quick by comparison," Donald muttered of Martin as he searched for John.

He was leaping from surface to surface like a mad-man, jumping into the water and re-emerging on the opposite side of whatever he chose to swim under. Not only were his sneak attacks disorienting -they made it difficult to catch him before he disappeared again.

"That could either turn out very well or quite detrimental for him." Walter looked on to Martin, raising his eyebrows in unspoken challenge.

Either feeling weak would give him the sense to surrender, or perhaps he was too far gone mentally than to keep doing what he was doing without a thought.

Clutching the rope in his hands, Martin stared at Walter with dull eyes and pale cheeks.

"MARTIN!" Ian screeched. "Snap out of it!"

With that, Martin dutifully turned to face Jim, contemplating how to fight him when he was hardly putting up any worthy fight. Being too kind to do much worse to someone already incapacitated, he lightly tapped his toe against Jim's injured knee, but it was enough to send Jim rolling over on his side, clutching it and moaning. He came within inches of taking a plunge himself, but Skunk came up to the edge to catch him, and the precious emergency radio at the last second. He tossed the latter object back to the middle immediately, and slung himself onboard first before he dragged Jim back on to sit him down hard in the middle of the raft.

_"Stay_ there," he ordered, hopping back to his feet and leaping onto the wing.

Instead, Jim began scooting himself across the raft on his good side after Martin, and tried to hook his drum sticks around Martin's feet in retaliation, trying to stop him from jumping to the fuselage. It was there that he suffered a hard shove from behind from a wild-looking John, who had popped up from under the raft with leaves and debris in his hair, hanging over his face. He grabbed Jim and tried to turn him over the raft edge once more, before Denny snatched the radio back and gave John a hard shove into the water.

Then, seeing the chance he'd watched and waited so carefully for, Donald hooked John around the neck with the snare pole to force him under the surface of the water and under the fuselage.

Jim yelped in surprise as Denny dragged him back from the edge once again. 

"Where the hell did he _come from?"_ Overwhelmed with sensitivity to the noise, light, and motion, Jim struggled to make heads or tails, looking between Denny, Donald and his aggressive shoving with the snare pole, and John turning into a much more evil form of his insane persona, clawing and snatching at the pole while gagging noisily on water and against the wire hook. He watched as Martin tried to wrestle the pole from Donald, and as Donald knocked him back hard with his elbow.

"Listen," said Denny, kneeling down to look Jim in the eyes and block him from focusing elsewhere. "You're _done,_ okay? You're too hung up for this battle. Stay down on the raft and _watch your back_, because the next time you start falling toward the water, there might _not_ be one of us there to catch you. Got it?"

"If you want to attempt making yourself useful down there, for whatever it is worth, give us a shout if you see someone coming up behind any of us," ordered Walter from where he stood above, denying Martin every opportunity to climb back to safety. "Denny, pass that radio off to Skunk; clearly, it's beyond what Jim can currently handle."

The light was fading from John's eyes, but he fought on for what seemed an impossible amount of time, springing up after long ducks under the surface, right up until his body began to slacken from hypoxia. The dull look in his eyes made him look inhuman.

"For pity's sake," grumbled Donald as he finally shook the snare loose, leaving John hanging lifeless below the surface of the water. "I thought I already knew what a freak of nature was, but whatever the hell THAT was, that was terrifying."

"You're telling _me_ about it!" Skunk groaned as he used part of the rope he'd snatched from Martin to hook his ankle as he tried to force himself up on the raft while Walter continuously knocked him back.

"Got him rigged?" asked Walter.

"Affirmative," fired Skunk. "You want the honors now that there's not as much interference?"

"Quite the question you should ask. I think I will." Walter swiftly took hold of the rope and dragged Martin underneath the raft, which gave Skunk the perfect chance to jump away from Ian, who had taken over chasing him for the radio.

"Catch, Denny!" As he got to the end of the wing, he threw the radio to the fuselage where Denny was now keeping watch with Donald, and seeing the radio land safely, he jumped into the water and swam off. 

By the time he reemerged on the raft, Ian was back on the tail, and Walter was swiping his hands over each other, evening up the tell-tale red marks of rope burn without showing any expression of discomfort.

He then hopped onto the wing to face Ian.

"It's five on one now, Anderson. Care to surrender while we're here? We wouldn't want to force you into a fight you don't have the ability to come out of alive. Not to mention it seems to me it'd be rather boring to have an easy win, if you will."

"While I may have done my most impressive work alongside others, I have no difficulties going it alone! Particularly with the tools to do it!"

It was in that moment that Ian Anderson revealed that one of the two flutes he'd kept hanging from his belt on his hip wasn't as far from what it looked as one might have been led to think by Ian's theatrical performances.

His real flute remained on his hip, attached to a much sturdier, double-loop. Frominside the slightly larger one he easily detached, he pulled and brandished a sword, earning a surprised raise of eyebrows from Skunk, and wide-eyed gawking from Jim, who leaned further and further over the edge of the raft, trying to get a closer look to confirm that he really was seeing what he thought.

Ian beamed. "I borrowed that idea from the _great_ Ray Thomas," he admitted, with a great deal of pride in having had a chance to follow his idol's trick.

Denny poked the toe of his shoe into Jim's spine, provoking a gasp from the stunned drummer as he startled back to reality.

"Snap out of it and watch what's going on, or you're gonna go over with them and drown yourself, since you're not gonna be able to swim for shit with your knee like that. And I'm _not_ pulling you back from the edge again when you've already been told!"

"The great Ray Thomas." Walter narrowed his eyes and smirked up at Ian, seemingly unintimidated to be standing on lower ground. "Who you seem to be quite pleased with yourself to take after. I suppose the 'great Ray Thomas' is the one who gave you the bright idea to want to stay stranded out here like a great _fool?"_

Ian offered a rather cheeky shrug that allowed him to hold his sword angled up and out to his side to be fully poised for battle.

"He was rather inspired by past explorers while in search of the lost chord. Most notable to where I would suspect we're near, Dr. Livingstone."

Now Walter raised his eyebrows and feigned to be impressed, before looking to the side toward the raft.

"He was in search of a _chord_. He had to _find_ it. That's quite a conundrum, what say you, Donald?"

Donald nodded and smirked, and it was in that moment that Skunk and Denny shared a look of concern and curiosity as they realized that they were purposefully trying to wind Ian up.

And Donald was greatly enjoying giving Ian a dose of the bitter medicine he'd dealt him the entire time waiting in the airfield.

"I'd have to say it's pretty unfortunate to _lose_ a chord. Doesn't seem like something that just happens'th everyday, y'know?"

"Why, indeed, it is." Walter emitted a hearty, amused chuckle. His eyes glinted smugly behind his water-smudged glasses. "Very unfortunate for him in particular. I have to wonder how he is as great as you suggest when he managed to lose a chord in the first place. Never mind that he must be better than you if you are still inclined to follow him in spite of it."

Ian gritted his teeth, and with an emphatic roar, charged from the raft to leap onto the fuselage, and pointed his sword at Walter as he got into position to charge for the wing.

"I'm not liking the sound of the water right about now," Jim warned. "It's getting _really_ rough."

It seemed they'd floated back out of their clearing that had turned from calm and wide to a battleground in an instant. The riverbank had resumed in its previous, narrow form, rocks and rapids were jerking the raft and the plane remains about, and the current was speeding up.

"Give us warning, but not THAT loud, or he's gonna hear! Skunk, be ready to get us out of here as soon as we get him taken care of, and make sure you do it before the last chance to get out, because we're gonna have to make it quick!" Denny had made quick work of tying the tail of the plane up with more rope, and he tossed the spool into the raft with Skunk, seeing there was nothing to tie to on the fuselage and wing.

The river current continued to strengthen, and they'd seen Donald's stoic demeanor falter -even with his eyes hidden behind dark shades -as he anticipated what they were headed for.

"Take this." Donald shoved the snare to Skunk.

"Are you sure?" Skunk held his hand up, but didn't reach forward to grab. "I'm better at jumping and sneaking around them, and you don't have a weapon."

"I know something you don't," Donald insisted in a forceful whisper, thrusting the pole to Skunk. "I've stayed out of the water for a reason. Now get on with it!"

Ian seemed unaware as he was in for the fight, so much so that he hadn't registered Jim's overly-loud warning. He sprung from the scrap of fuselage at Walter on the wing then.

Skunk took and slung the pole with the snare end across and tried to hook Ian's foot in it, but only succeeded in tripping him, as he was a moment too late between focusing on the rope and his skeptical thoughts toward taking the pole.

He sent Ian splashed down in the water, and Denny and Jim couldn't help but wince when Walter pressed the bottom of his shoe down forcefully on Ian's face as he grabbed the edge of the wing and tried to work his way up over the edge. He nearly drove his sword into Walter's knee then, but lost his angle when Walter took a step back, and Ian was forced to lie sideways and his leg over the edge of the wing to get up.

Skunk started to come in, but held back, in fear that trying to attack in the current arrangement might cause trouble for Walter too, which would get _him_ in more trouble later -if and when they got home. He was just in hopes that Walter would come back onto the fuselage, when Ian nimbly jumped up and hooked his sword around in front of Walter, holding the blade to his throat.

"Now what?" he asked. "Still wish to fight me?"

"We hate to not play a good, clean game," said Walter calmly, "but as it turns out, sometimes everyone else wants to play dirty and there's reason why you just can't. Isn't that right, Don?"

"So it seems, when there are hidden weapons. I suppose'th we'll see if he lets'th us off with minimal blood." Donald offered the faintest of smirks from beneath his dark shades as he looked across the floating shrapnel, from Walter, then to lock in on Ian.

From inside the coat he'd kept on from the time of the crash despite the stifling, tropical heat, he drew a pistol, raised it in one smooth motion, and fired a low trajectory, just as thunder cracked in unison and the dark clouds looming above burst into a heavy downpour.

The bullet made perfect impact with Ian's foot, bringing him down from his stable stance to lie on the downward slope of the wing, sliding across the wet and slick metal surface toward the water. Had he reached both hands up to grab the upper edge of the wing, he could have saved himself and lived with his non-fatal wound. However, when his sword began to slip through his fingers, he chose to regain his grasp on his weapon, and forfeited the time which the edge was in his arms' reach.

With his left foot crippled, the toe of his right foot alone couldn't create adequate friction to stop his slide. He splashed down into the water, and was pulled under the surface by the violent current.

"Walt!" Donald only broke his rigid facade to yell out his warning, once it was clear they were free of remaining challengers. He made a jump for the raft from the fuselage, with far less caution this time, now that the weapon he'd carefully protected had been used, and didn't quite make the surface. Using his handhold on the edge, he jumped up from his quick splash like a cat making an escape after falling into a bathtub.

Denny grabbed the snare pole from Skunk and stuck it out from where he sat awkwardly on the tail of the plane toward the wing as a safety line to grab. Luckily, even without the heavily practiced agility Ian had, Walter had no trouble landing his jump from the wing to the raft with as much influence of adrenaline as he'd willingly show. 

"Everyone out, now!" he ordered. "Skunk, you only get one take to get this right, and you'll be in for a good deal of fun if you _don't."_

Skunk threw the rope he'd tied a loop in to snag on one of the many roots twisted and sticking up in the air along the riverbank. They continued to float forward for a moment, then jerked to a hard stop as the rope was stretched to its limits. With nowhere to go, the tension of the twisting rope began pulling them in against the side, and Denny sped the process up once they were close enough for him to hook the snare on a root and manually pull them in.

"Ow!" Jim complained as he got his back and arms bashed against several roots that were over his sitting height when they came in toward shore. "God damn; watch it!"

"Just be glad that wasn't in your head or neck when you're concussed enough," grumbled Denny, hoisting him from his makeshift floatations device and onto solid ground. He squinted against the aggressively-falling raindrops. "And aside from not being able to see well, there's no point in complaining about rain when we're already soaking wet."

"Other than that we wouldn't be soaking wet if it weren't for whoever the hell thought THIS was a great idea." Donald removed his sopping and heavy coat and stowed his surprise weapon away in it.

"Shall we confirm he's down?" Walter suggested.

Donald snorted. "He'd _better_ be."

Still keeping a protective hold on the radio, Skunk and Denny walked twenty yards down the riverbank -which became rockier and rougher as they went -behind Donald and Walter until they were looking down a hill beside a ten foot drop down plenty of rocks below.

"A fantastic idea to find our own way indeed," Walter mused.

"Of course," said Donald. "It helps a lot when you think of less fantastic obstacles before getting to them."

Walter pointed on the bank down below to a sprawled figure in garish stage clothes. "There he is."

Denny shook his head, rolled his eyes, and turned around, grumbling something inaudible but assumably ill-thoughts of Ian as he headed back to their exiting point to get Jim.

"I'd say he's definitely well done in." Donald shrugged. "That's that, then."

Skunk peered down the hill at Ian lying prone on the riverbank.

"Should we go down the hill and get him -just to make note of it, or put him near the wreckage?"

Donald scoffed and waved off the thought. "He can stay there for all I care! He wanted to be out here, and we can _leave_ him lying there right where he was headed on his own."

Just then, the wing of the plane went crashing down over the falls.

"I guess that disguises it enough," Skunk decided as the wing lodged itself between the rocks a few yards from Ian's resting place.

Donald pointed on to Skunk, who then began dialing the radio and operating the code for a rescue team to come to the signal emitted as he switched it on.

When we get home from _this_ fiasco, I believe we may have an indisputably solid case to be entirely done with the touring business." Walter looked rather pleased with himself. "How about that, now?"

"Seems a fair enough game to me."

"EY!" 

A shout came from behind them, and a backward look revealed two men running down the bank from past the clearing.

"Where'd they come from?" asked Jim. He winced and rubbed at his head with a pained expression. "And why do I feel like I've already asked that?"

"Hey! The lot of you," shouted the slimmer of the two approaching. "I reckon you have some idea as to what's just happened here, given there are few who pass this way. Why are there four dead bodies in my lake? I've private property back from the lake, and I might add I don't appreciate uninvited visitors."

"Never mind that, Keith. I'd like to ask why the _bloody hell_ did some bloke in a pilot's suit come running through here backwards half an hour ago? If it has anything to do with all of you here." The other seemed to be attempting to look fierce, but his rounded cheeks, wide eyes, and baby-like face softened further by a long fringe made him look purely innocent and confused.

"To tell you might just do you in, but you can have a look and think for yourselves," Walter offered indignantly. "The one who guided us to 'your lake' is down the fall."

"There's plane parts -forget about it." the first sighed. "I've seen enough, and I don't wish to hear about it."

The radio squealed loudly as Skunk switched it on, then, getting the feedback settled, began making distress calls.

"We'll let you off the hook is you promise to leave as soon as you can. It seems the five of you are rather lucky men."

"Funny, I wasn't quite sure of that," Donald muttered. "But I'll be glad to leave when they show us the real way to go home."


End file.
